My heart is cuddling up to the silence…the low crackling of the dryer–as it turns my clothes for the holidays…the occasional car passing down 5th Street…my refrigerator humming a silent hum.
I am trying to put the year away–back onto its proper shelving; tucked away in storage bins; displayed–at other times–for all to see.
The year wants to come out and play. I am finally learning to quiet long enough to not only consume, but to also digest. The year had been good–it started hard and threw me for a fit, but it found me again in the middle with much joy.
It was a slow joy, a restorative joy, at what we never thought could…
Only to be quickly followed by an even deeper and slower rest at hand.
Joy loosens hard soil from a painful winter’s past, and enables the ground to receive the rain.
And now, it rains. A winter rain precedes a winter snow…perhaps the slowest of all rests, where the ground’s nourishment sits frozen on top of it like a thick, cold blanket…
Protecting the ground while the trees sleep, and sometimes sway.
And the trees sleep, and sway…and sleep, and sway, and promise to return in the Spring as their slimmer, wiser, selves.